


know my way around your heart

by silentinfluence



Category: Captain America (Movies), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Accidents, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Fluff, Gryffindor Steve, M/M, Pining, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Quidditch, Slytherin Bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-11
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-30 16:30:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10880628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentinfluence/pseuds/silentinfluence
Summary: Steve shuffles over to one side of the bed to make some space, and yawns briefly before saying, “We should cuddle. Like, right now,” and even fluffs up the pillow on his side to make the offer more inviting.His eyes are wide and hopeful, and he’s still got that dazed look on his face and a lopsided grin and flushed cheeks. He’s everything Bucky wants, and he has to physically force out the soft, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stevie,” that doesn’t want to leave his mouth.[A Harry Potter AU in which Steve and Bucky finally get it right in their last year of Hogwarts.]Featuring Steve as Gryffindor Captain, Bucky as a Slytherin/Honorary Gryffindor, and a kiss in the Hospital Wing.





	know my way around your heart

Bucky enters the Great Hall and makes a beeline for the Gryffindor table, his silver and green robes a stark contrast against the sea of warm tones, an obnoxious amount of reds and yellows present in the dining area.

To be fair, it w _as_ the last Quidditch match of the entire year, and they were graduating in a couple of months, so Bucky thinks the annoying amount of bright colors assaulting his vision is understood, but only for today.

The match was down to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and while some part of Bucky was upset his house hadn’t made it to the finals, he was at least grateful that Steve’s house did.

“Barnes,” Sam raises his goblet of Pumpkin Juice in greeting as soon as Bucky is in sight. His lips are pulled up into a smile, but there’s no denying the tension in his voice and the anxious drumming of his fingers against the table.

“Wilson,” Bucky replies, eyes narrowing at the wave of anxiety practically rolling off the Gryffindor team present at the table. Steve, in particular, is practically vibrating off his seat, his right leg tapping out a random rhythm against the marble floors. Being the Gryffindor team captain would do that to you, Bucky supposes.

He cranes his neck to greet Bucky with a warm, albeit nervous smile. “Hey, Buck.”

Bucky squeezes himself in beside Steve and Maria, one of the Chasers. She rolls her eyes yet makes room anyways.

The entire Gryffindor table was well acquainted with Bucky by now, the latter having been Steve’s best friend for basically their entire stay in Hogwarts. Steve had been skinny and small when they’d first met in 1st year, and it was a story that Bucky enjoyed telling all too much. Steve had been playing with a Quaffle and had not-so-expertly thrown it in Bucky’s general direction. Bucky, who had an epic purple bruise on his forehead, had been taken to the Hospital Wing by a mortified and apologetic Steve, and had come out of the clinic with a best friend instead.

It was a pretty sweet deal.

The Gryffindors were entirely too used to Bucky chatting with Steve in the morning by their table and vice versa. It technically wasn’t allowed, but the Professors all pretended to be immersed in their meals since they had all tried (and failed) to separate the two on numerous occasions.

“You all look like hell,” Bucky says to the team while he casually piles Steve’s—well, _his_ now—plate with toast and bacon.

“And a good morning to you too,” Steve glares at him, though there’s barely any heat behind his words.

Bucky finally takes pity on him. “Please stop looking like you’re about to shit your pants any second now. You’re about to give _me_ anxiety at this rate,” he gives Steve a playful punch to the shoulder. Several snickers echo around them, and when the rest of the team are finally immersed in their breakfast or running over the game plan for what was probably the 100th time, Bucky pulls Steve in closer.

“Hey,” Bucky starts, giving Steve a soft look, “you’re going to do great, okay? You guys have been training nonstop for months. You’ve got this, Cap.” Bucky had never claimed to be great at pre-game speeches and pep talks, but being best friends with a Quidditch player and now team Captain meant that encouraging talks before every game was practically a ritual.

Steve takes a small shuddering breath before relaxing the tense set of his shoulders. His hair is even more golden in the morning light, and Bucky barely ignores the urge to squirm in his seat when Steve levels him with a look in return, eyes blue and bright and lashes fanning out across his cheekbones.

Un-fucking-real, Bucky thinks.

“Thank you, Bucky,” he grins, right before stealing the piece of bacon Bucky had already gotten a hold off with his fork. Technically, it w _as_ his plate. Was being the keyword.

Bucky squawks. “You know what? I take it all back. I hope Hufflepuff wins, even if it means Clint will want to celebrate with too much Firewhisky and most likely puke all over me.”

Steve steals another piece of bacon in reply

 

Natasha gives him an all too familiar look when he finally extricates himself from the Gryffindor table and gives his last set of goodlucks right before he plops down next to her in their table.

“What?” Bucky asks defensively.

“You and Rogers,” she starts out, waving her fork to gesture at him from across the Hall, “have really got to get your shit together.”

Bucky can feel the heat spreading out across his cheeks. It was fairly obvious to someone like Natasha that he liked Steve, but he didn’t know why she kept implying that it was a mutual attraction. Steve had, in all their seven years in Hogwarts, never once hinted at liking Bucky romantically, he was sure. And he would learn to live with it. Right after Natasha would stop bringing it up every five seconds.

He takes a long sip at his goblet before answering. “Just like you and Clint need to get your shit together?”

At the mention of their Hufflepuff friend, she gives him a scowl.

“Thought so,” Bucky replies gleefully.

“I don’t know why we’re even friends,” she sniffs in reply.

“Ditto.”

+

Bucky heads to the Quidditch field after breakfast with Natasha, heading to their usual spot in the bleachers and saving Tony and Bruce some seats next to them.

The two Ravenclaws were never on time to a _nything,_ and Tony always made it a point to bitch about how Quidditch was such a barbaric sport even if they all knew he was as invested in it as anyone during finals season.

The teams are on opposite ends of the field, and he can make out Steve even amidst the Gryffindor team huddled around him. He’s got his Captain Face on, and Bucky ignores the twist of fondness curling in his gut at Steve’s determined eyes, jaw tight and eyebrows furrowed together as he exudes confidence.

“Woah there,” Tony finally appears with Bruce in tow, his shirt stained with some Potion or another he’s been working on, “do my eyes deceive me or is Barnes actually not scowling for once?”

“It’s because he’s looking at loverboy down by the field,” Natasha replies before Bucky can get a word in, a smirk tugging on her lips.

Bucky hates his friends. Truly.

“No, it’s because I had a moment of fucking peace before you two showed up,” Bucky leans against the bleachers, arms crossed against his chest and resolutely not looking at Steve. “No, wait. I like Bruce; only he can stay.”

Bruce sends him an amused look over Tony’s shoulder as the two of them settle in their seats. “Thanks, I guess.”

A couple of 3rd year Gryffindor girls squeeze in a few seats beside them, chattering excitedly and glancing at the players on the field.

Tony snorts out a laugh, and Bucky shoots him an arched brow in reply before the Ravenclaw gestures at one of the girls. Natasha bursts out laughing, and Bucky quickly silences her with a sharp glare.

The girl’s Gryffindor robes are adorned with a collection of pins, all of them basically variations of Steve’s face. Steve’s smiling face, Steve’s Determined Captain Face, Steve hovering on a broom 25 feet up in the air, a ‘Go Gryffindor!’ text with Steve’s face under, and a whole bunch more in bright, flashy colors.

While a part of Bucky is in complete understanding with the girls and would, quite frankly like to know where those pins came from so he could order a bunch of them in the guise of embarrassing Steve, the other, larger, _petty_ part is scowling on the inside, a mantra off, “ _Fuck off, I liked him before puberty hit, when he was small and skinny and nearly took my head out with a Quaffle.”_

Natasha, as if sensing his thoughts, heaves out a big sigh. “Please do not harass a 13 year old girl over a harmless, and completely _understandable_ crush, James,” she says reproachfully, yet looks entirely too amused.

Bucky shoots her an offended look. “I would never,” he grumbles.

Whatever she’s about to say is drowned out by the sound of cheering, screams erupting from the stands as the two teams kick off from the ground, hovering in the air with their brooms.

Whoever said Hufflepuffs were the nicest people obviously didn’t take into account Quidditch season, because the game is absolutely brutal.

Gryffindor starts out with the Quaffle, Maria in possession of the ball and weaving between players, Clint tailing after her. The Hufflepuff soon gains possession off it when Maria swerves to avoid a Bludger, and from then on the game is a haze, fast-paced and unpredictable and nervous excitement blanketed over the stadium.

Bucky worries his lower lip as his eyes trail after Steve who is zipping in and out of players, eyes trained on the Quaffle which is still in Hufflepuff’s possession.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Bucky whispers as Steve gains speed, successfully intercepting the Quaffle despite one of the Bludgers coming his way, which the Gryffindor Beater manages to hit back right before it knocks Steve off his broom.

The Gryffindor side of the stadium cheers, and even Bruce and Tony are whooping while Bucky gets up on his feet and hollers. Natasha, meanwhile, is attempting to maintain the semblance of dignity, but still alternates between cheering for Hufflepuff and Gryffindor.

Hufflepuff and Gryffindor are tied at this point, and everyone knows the pressure is on the Seekers right now.

The Gryffindor Seeker, Sharon, is desperately trying to keep up with the Golden Snitch, which is steadily hovering and darting around at lightning speed.

Steve scores another 10 points for Gryffindor as he gains possession of the Quaffle once more, and Bucky is practically vibrating off his seat, screaming words of encouragement at Steve and ignoring the amused look Natasha—and the people within a few feet of him-- sends him.

Sue him.

“Chill the fuck out, Barnes,” a fellow Slytherin with dark, slicked back hair whom Bucky vaguely remembers as Loki drawls a few seats below him.

“Mind your own damn business, asshole,” Bucky snaps, completely oblivious to Tony and Natasha practically losing it in their seats.

Bucky graces him with one of his well-practiced and patented glares before turning his attention back on the field, which is when everything promptly falls to shit.

Sharon and the Hufflepuff Seeker Sif are head to head as they chase after the Snitch. Sharon is gritting her teeth, sweat beading on her forehead as she simultaneously speeds after the golden ball while avoiding the Bludger after her.

The Gryffindor Beaters are on the other side of the field, chasing away the Bludger after their Chasers and too far apart from Sharon to defend her from the iron balls. Sharon speeds closer and closer to the ground as she catches a flash of gold, hands reaching out to wrap around the Snitch’s beating wings and unable to swerve away from the Bludger steadily coming after her.

Which is why Steve, the goddamn idiot, speeds up beside her to take the Bludger instead, right as Sharon’s fist closes around the Snitch.

The stadium explodes into chaos. The Gryffindor side  erupts into cheering, whooping and clutching at each other and throwing various items up in the air, not noticing, for a few seconds, that Steve has been knocked off his broom by the force of the Bludger he just took, his limp body steadily crashing down into the ground.

The scream catches in Bucky’s throat, blood pounding unbearably loud in his ears as a cold, tight, iron fist squeezes his chest, taking all of the air with it. The screaming around him is strangely muffled, everything suddenly sounding tinny and _wrong._ His vision is starting to become muddled, like he’s somehow found himself underwater, and it was suddenly too _hot,_ and why couldn’t he fucking move? He had to get to Steve, he had to do s _omething_ —

“James,” Natasha’s sharp voice tugs him out of it, cool fingers twisting his chin so she could stare up at him. Panic is swimming in her eyes, yet her voice is calm and collected. He vaguely notices the Professors crowding around Steve’s body in the stadium, and how he’s being rushed off into the Hospital Wing in a flurry of robes and wands.

“I have to—Steve’s in, we have to—“ he’s a stammering mess, face still incredibly hot and trembling all over. Luckily, Natasha understands what he’s trying to convey and pulls him out of the stands, Tony and Bruce clearing out a path in front of them as they try to head to the Hospital Wing.

It’s the longest walk Bucky’s ever taken.

+

Bucky stares down at Steve’s sleeping figure and tries to stop the trembling off his fingers.

Steve is still passed out from the Healing Drought the healers had made him take, and looks entirely too peaceful for someone who just got knocked off his broom by an iron ball while hovering in the air. The healers say he was lucky to be close to the ground, was lucky his injuries were treatable by skilled Healers and Potions.  

It had been the most agonizing half hour Bucky had to wait while the healers did their job inside the Hospital Wing, and nothing his friends had said to reassure him had stopped his pacing and worrying.

It had been nearly another hour before Bucky had gotten Steve to himself, had to wait in the sidelines while the Gryffindor team huddled around him as well as the Hufflepuffs, Sam and Clint and Thor and all the other people who adored and cared for Steve like Bucky did.

Natasha and the others had just left a few minutes ago.  She had tried to get him to rest, to come back to the Slytherin Dorms and sleep off the stress and panic, but they both knew his ass was permanently glued to Steve’s bedside until he woke up, as Tony so eloquently put it earlier.

Bucky runs his fingers gently over the big, purpling bruise on Steve’s face, blinking back the fresh round of tears threatening to let loose.

“Jesus, I’m acting like a grieving wife or something,” Bucky bites back a wet laugh as he murmurs to himself.

The clacking of heels against marble catches Bucky’s attention for a few moments, and he turns to find one of the Healers from earlier. He feels his cheeks redden in shame, remembering the way he had harassed her an hour ago to let him in. He opens his mouth to apologize when she stops him with a hand. “Don’t even bother. It’s fine, really. You should’ve seen his legion of fans threatening me earlier when I wouldn’t let them in,” she says in amusement, though her eyes are crinkled up in understanding.

“Thank you,” he manages to say against the heavy feeling in his throat.

“You sure you don’t want to get some rest, kid? He’ll be pretty loopy and out of it when he wakes up anyway; one of the side-effects of the Healing Drought we gave him. It’s pretty potent,” she explains.

Bucky chances a glance at Steve’s sleeping face, golden hair splayed out across the sheets. His nose twitches in his sleep, and warmth floods Bucky’s chest. “I think I can handle him.”

The woman gives him one last parting smile before she busies herself in the healer’s office.

Bucky takes Steve’s bandaged hand in his gently, affection tinged with annoyance bubbling up in his chest, and sits in silence as his eyes roam over Steve’s figure, cataloging his injuries. It isn’t long before he manages to doze off in his seat for a few minutes, but jerks awake when the hand wrapped around his— _Steve’s_ —twitches in his hold.

His breath hitches. “Steve?” he asks hopefully, carefully.

Steve’s eyelashes flutter against his cheekbones as he blearily blinks his eyes open, lazily taking note of his surroundings before finally settling on Bucky’s face. “Bucky,” he grins, a goofy smile spreading across his face.

Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding and attempts to compose himself. He awkwardly removes his hand from Steve’s grip, trying to ignore the small frown that settles on Steve’s face at the action.

Steve is frowning down at the bandages covering his chest and the sling around his arm, and lets out a low hiss when he pokes the big, purple bruise on his face. “Ow,” his brows furrow, “where did _that_ come from?”

A choked laugh escapes from Bucky. “The Quidditch match, you dumb lug,” he says, resisting the urge to kiss him senseless now that he was awake and alive and s _afe._

Recognition slowly dawns on Steve’s features, “Oh! But, well, we won, didn’t we?” his eyes narrow, as if attempting to remember the blur of events earlier.

Bucky rolls his eyes and murmurs, “You just wake up after falling off your broom and the first thing you do is ask whether you’ve won the game. Typical, Rogers, _fucking_ typical.” Annoyance flares in his gut as he says this, angry at the risk Steve had taken and his complete lack of self-preservation, except the larger part of him is mostly happy that Steve’s alive, that he’s in one piece and staring up at Bucky with a stupid look on his face and a big dumb smile.

“Nu-uh,” Steve says, eyes slightly dazed as he stares at Bucky, lopsided smile still in place, “the first thing I did when I woke up was say your _name.”_

Bucky’s breath catches in his throat, his heart beating uncontrollably against his rib cage as warmth floods his gut. “That doesn’t count. I was the first thing you saw,” he says, attempting to cover up the flush across his cheeks with a scowl.

He has no idea if it’s working.

Steve is shaking his head vigorously, and Bucky is just about to tell him to stop lest he damage the remaining brain cells that hadn’t been lost in the fall, when Steve reaches out across the bed and intertwines their fingers again. “I liked it when you did this earlier. We should do it more often,” he says, eyes completely serious, and just when Bucky thought things couldn’t get any possibly _worse_ (or better), Steve tugs him clumsily against his chest.

“Steve!” Bucky glares at him, one hand propped against the mattress on Steve’s side and narrowly avoiding the bandages across his chest. He manages to sit upright on the bed and not hover awkwardly against his friend. “I could’ve hit your ribs. They’re bruised, you idiot.”

He probably should cut Steve more slack considering he was pretty out of it, but Bucky was flushed and flustered and god damn it could Steve stop _looking at him like that?_

Bucky realizes he’s said that last part out too late, because Steve stares up at him with a sheepish look on his face, the tips of his ears burning red. “Sorry. You’re just really pretty,” his bandaged hand twitches against his side before it reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind Bucky’s ear.

He swallows thickly, face entirely too flushed, before he springs off the bed and smooths down his robes. There was something seriously, _seriously_ wrong with Steve. He knows Healing Droughts made people loopy, but he was fairly certain they didn’t do _this._ He had to call the Healer, maybe—

All thoughts were promptly tossed out the window, when a pair of soft, warm lips pressed up against his.

It was quick and chaste, just a warm peck, yet Bucky could still feel the lingering warmth, the tingling in his lips long after Steve moves away, and stamps down on the urge to chase after his lips, to press him flush against him.

It wasn’t right. He would have been taking advantage, except Steve is staring up at him with a dopy smile on his face Bucky’s heart hurts a little bit in his chest.

Steve shuffles over to one side of the bed to make some space, and yawns briefly before saying, “We should cuddle. Like, right now,” and even fluffs up the pillow on his side to make the offer more inviting.

His eyes are wide and hopeful, and he’s still got that dazed look on his face and a lopsided grin and flushed cheeks. He’s everything Bucky wants, and he has to physically force out the soft, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Stevie,” that doesn’t want to leave his mouth.

Steve stills and stops his pillow-fluffing to frown at him. “I mean, the bed’s kinda small, but we could probably make it work,” he says, eyes taking in the stiff futon that looks like it would give in any second.

Bucky bites his lip softly before letting out a shaky breath. His throat suddenly feels too tight. “Just—just get some rest, okay? I’ve got class in a bit but I’ll visit you after.”

Steve eyes him for a few long seconds, a concerned look scrunching up his face. “Okay,” he says softly, before reaching out to take Bucky’s hand in his, pressing a gentle kiss against his knuckles, like he isn’t the one with bandaged hands and broken bones and bruised ribs.

Bucky stares at him dumbly for a few seconds, before he gathers up his things and crosses the room, his chest feeling heavier and heavier with every step he takes.

He wants Steve, but not like this. Not when Steve is drugged out of his mind, and probably doesn’t even know what he’s doing, doesn’t w _ant_ him the way Bucky does.

How did the day turn to such shit?

+

“Take a picture, will you? It’ll last longer,” Bucky drawls as he dips his quill in ink, smoothing out the parchment as he continues his Charms essay.

Natasha is seated across him in the library, looking up every now and then from her Potions book to pin Bucky with a scrutinizing look.

She slams her book down against the desk, ignoring the dirty glare the nearby Ravenclaw sends her. She sends one back in return, a perfectly groomed eyebrow raised, and the Ravenclaw looks away, shuffling into her seat in defeat.

Natasha smirks to herself, momentarily distracted by her victory, before she pins Bucky with another one of her looks and declares, “I can’t live like this anymore, Barnes.”

Bucky pauses in his writing for a brief second. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he grumbles, dotting one of the _i’s_ a little too hard and cursing when the quill nearly goes through the parchment. They were wizards in the 21st century, why on earth were they still using parchment and quills? Couldn’t they use laptops like the Muggles did and save themselves the torture of handwritten essays?

Bucky half suspects the Professors just want to see their students suffer.

“Something’s happened between you and Rogers,” Natasha states brusquely, cool eyes boring into his.

His jaw clenches reflexively, and he ignores her in favor of writing his damn essay. It had been nearly a week since the Hospital Wing Incident as Bucky dubs it in his head, and he didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved that Steve didn’t seem to remember a thing. Relieved that he wouldn’t have to go through Steve awkwardly explaining that he hadn’t known what he’d been doing, that it was a mistake, that he’d been drugged out of his mind. Disappointed that nothing like that would ever happen between that again, that he’d have to go through his last year in Hogwarts with that kiss replaying in his head like a broken record.

And of course Natasha, ever the observant one, had noticed something was up with the way he was around Steve.

“James,” Natasha says, eyes narrowed, arms crossed over her chest, leaning back against her chair expectantly.

Bucky is fully prepared to tell her to fuck off and go back to her Potions book, yet for some stupid reason, he blurts out, “He kissed me.”

Maybe it was because he knew she wouldn’t stop until she had her way, or because he was just _tired_ of keeping it all to himself. Either way, her eyes widen for approximately half a second before she lets out a low whistle. “So you two finally did get your shit together. Would you look at that.”

“No, Nat,” Bucky starts out in frustration, “He was drugged to all hell when it happened last Monday, and he doesn’t even remember a thing.”

He must look incredibly miserable, because Natasha’s eyes soften before she reaches out across the table. “Talk to him, James. He’ll notice eventually that you’re acting differently around him, and I know you wouldn’t lie to Rogers.”

“I know, okay, I just—not right now,” he says, even if they both know that was really code for, _I don’t want to do anything to risk our friendship._

Natasha sends him another one of her sharp looks. “Trust me, James. I think this’ll turn out quite differently than what you expect.”

There’s a small smirk tugging on her lips, and before Bucky can ask her what the hell she’s talking about, she grabs her Potions book and pretends to look completely immersed in it.

“I hate you.”

“Ditto.”

+

Bucky is hanging out by the Great Lake later the next day, books and parchments spread out in the grass around him. The weather is perfect for studying outdoors, not too warm, with a pleasant breeze ruffling his hair every now and then. The water is clear and sparkling, sunlight reflecting off of it, and the grass beneath his rolled up sleeve tickles just a bit.

And of course Tony has to interrupt the mini state of Zen that’s just washed over Bucky. “You got number seven wrong,” he says, pointing to Bucky’s Potions homework.

He frowns down at his unintelligible scribble. He kind of has no idea what his handwriting says, but he’ll be damned if he let Tony think he was right. “No, I didn’t.”

While Tony proceeds to rant about how incredibly wrong he is with matching hand gestures for demonstration, Bucky tunes him out and runs his gaze to the Quidditch teams a little further up ahead. While Quidditch season was over, most of the team Captains were passing down the title and still squeezing in a little practice for the next set of players before they leave Hogwarts for good.

Bucky finds his gaze settling on Steve. He’d healed fairly quickly thanks to the Healing Drought, and was laughing along with his teammates like he hadn’t just fell from the sky around a week ago. Steve had been busy the past week, trying to catch up with all the schoolwork he’d missed while healing in the Hospital Wing, and Bucky had only managed to spend some time with him when he visited in the clinic, or when he sat next to him in the Great Hall for breakfast.

They hadn’t really talked about the future much. They’ve been best friends since they were two knobby-kneed eleven year olds, and now they were graduating Hogwarts in a few months and trying to make a living for themselves in the Wizarding World. Bucky feels cold nostalgia wash over him and wonders how time flew so fucking fast. He knows Steve is already being scouted by Professional Quidditch teams, and he’s already sent in his application to St. Mungo’s. The terrible fear that they’re going to drift apart is clawing at him again, turning his stomach into lead and weighing down on his chest.

“Aaaand you’re not listening to me anymore, are you,” Tony says dryly.

“Wasn’t listening in the first place,” Bucky flashes him a sweet smile, to which Tony replies to by flicking grass in his face.

Bucky is just about to retaliate when Tony says, “Your boy is coming over. No PDA please, you know how I feel about that.”

He rolls his eyes. “Very funny, Stark.”

Steve plops down on the patch of grass next to Bucky, sending him a quick smile. “Gryffindor’s throwing a victory party this Saturday. You’re going, right?”

Bucky snorts. “When have I not?” Despite the fact that he was very much not a Gryffindor, nobody even batted an eye when Steve would drag Bucky along with him to House parties.

“You’re invited too,” Steve gestures to Tony.

“While overly enthusiastic Gryffindors vex me most of the time, I’ll go, but only for the booze,” Tony says, like he just wasn’t in one of the small House parties Gryffindor threw a few months ago.

“And Pepper Potts, maybe,” Bucky murmurs, to which Steve laughs at.

“I’m deeply offended by you two’s blatant disrespect of me,” Tony sniffs.

“Come with me to Hogsmeade later?” Steve asks, eyes trained on Bucky. “I wanna check out some of the new broomsticks. And they just restocked those quills that you like.”

“Sure,” Bucky shrugs and can’t help the grin that crosses his face. He’d go with Steve even if he wanted to take a look at the damn Shrieking Shack.

Steve grins at him in reply, eyes warm and bright, before Tony awkwardly clears his throat. “Yep, that is my cue to leave. You two lovebirds have some fun while I slave over homework.”

“We will,” Steve says in amusement while Tony flashes them the finger as he leaves.

And if Bucky’s eyes linger over Steve’s lips for a few seconds, remembering how they felt on his a week ago, well, nobody had to know but him.

+

The Gryffindor party is in full swing by the time Bucky and Natasha get there.

It isn’t exactly a Gryffindor party anymore, because Bucky can see a handful of other Houses that decided to party crash too, and pretty soon Natasha is leaving Bucky’s side to head over to Clint.

Bucky wiggles his eyebrows suggestively at her, to which she responds with a stern, “Talk to Steve.”

Which pretty much dampens his mood, until he spots Tony drunkenly dancing to a Muggle song on top of the tables while Pepper Potts looks on, half embarrassed and half amused.

He forgets about the Steve predicament for a few minutes as he chats with random people, congratulating Sharon Carter on her kick ass dive that saved the Gryffindor team, and generally ignoring Natasha’s sharp looks when someone claps him on the shoulder.

“Hey, man,” Sam greets him, a grin on his face and a bottle of booze in his other hand. “Steve’s been looking for you. He’s up in the Dorms, some asshole spilled Firewhisky all over his shirt,” Sam wrinkles his nose.

Bucky laughs and thanks him, before wiping his sweaty palms against the fabric of his jeans. They were graduating in two damn months, and he’d never really been good at lying to Steve.

It was now or never.

He passes by Natasha and Clint as he heads to the stairwell leading up to the boy’s dorms, and resolutely ignores her obnoxious little thumbs up. Even Clint flashes him a wink.

He needs new friends, honestly.

Bucky’s just about to knock when Steve opens the door, his eyes widening briefly in surprise before he grins. “Hey! This random guy just spilled Firewhisky on my shirt and I’m pretty sure I still reek of it,” he wrinkles his nose.

He’s wearing a thin tank top, and hasn’t gotten around to wearing his plaid button-up over it. Bucky barely resists the urge to beg him to stay like that. “So I’ve heard. You’re better of burning your shirt in the fireplace,” he smirks.

He mentally adds, _Burn all of your shirts. Please._

Steve snorts. “I think a cleaning spell will do just fine, Buck.”

Bucky laughs softly. There are dirty socks and Steve’s Quidditch jersey sprawled across his bed, with bits of parchment paper and some brochures about professional Quidditch teams littered on his bedside table. A familiar photo catches Bucky’s eye, propped up on Steve’s desk amidst the clutter, and it’s a moving photograph of them laughing with each other, a candid shot Steve’s mother had taken when he’d visited for Christmas last year.

Something lodges itself in his throat, and pretty soon everything that’s been bothering Bucky for months now comes bubbling up inside him. He’s afraid, so terribly afraid that they won’t be able to keep in touch after graduation, that they’ll be another one of those childhood best friends that just kind of drifted away in time. A part of him never wants to tell Steve about what he’d done in the Hospital Wing, afraid that he’s going to lose him after this, but he also knew he couldn’t keep it from him forever.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, looking at him with concern etched in his face.

“I—I need to talk to you about something, Steve.”

Steve tenses, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes worried, before he leads Bucky down to sit on the edge of his bed.

“What is it, Buck?”

The words die in his throat. Maybe he should just shut up about it. Was it even a big deal? Maybe he was just blowing it completely out of proportion. Steve was drugged, and kissed him; no big fucking deal, he would just learn to live with knowing the feel of Steve’s lips against him and the way he tasted and---

“You kissed me,” he blurts out, eyes wide and heart pounding and _oh god did he just say that._

He really, s _eriously_ needs to work on his brain to mouth filter.

Steve gapes at him.

Bucky rushes in to continue, “You probably don’t remember since you were pretty out of it? It was after that Quidditch match and I was the only one left in the Hospital Wing and you woke up and you were drugged to the gills so I really don’t blame you, then you kissed me and asked if I wanted to cuddle with you and—“

“ _Oh god,”_ Steve moans in embarrassment, clutching his face in his hands and simultaneously attempting to smother himself with a pillow.

“—it’s completely fine, I don’t blame you and I don’t want this to ruin our friendship or anything—“

“Bucky,” Steve starts out, his cheeks flushed.

“---I just didn’t want to keep anything from you and—“

“ _Bucky,”_ Steve finally cuts in, voice wrecked and embarrassment creeping up on his face.

He shuts up, wide eyes trained on Steve.

“I’m really sorry I put you in such an uncomfortable spot. I—“ he falters, eyes dropping down to the ground before they settle on his face once more, “But I don’t…I don’t regret kissing you, because I’ve wanted to do that for years. I really don’t remember shit about that day,” he laughs wetly, running a nervous hand through his hair, “but I hope I didn’t force myself on you or was a total jackass. And I completely understand if you don’t feel the same way, and fuck I—I hope I haven’t completely ruined our friendship at this point,” he finally says, lips bitten red and eyes vulnerable, as if bracing himself for rejection.

Bucky stares at him for a few moments, heart thumping heavily in his chest, the gears shifting in his head because fuck. “Fuck it,” he mutters to himself, before he grabs Steve’s face in his hands and kisses him.

Steve is unresponsive for all of 2 seconds before he pushes Bucky down against his pillows, licking hotly into his mouth and tasting him.

Bucky pulls him in closer by the back of his neck, biting and nibbling and teasing, trailing a string of kisses from his jaw to his neck and back up. Their teeth click together a couple of times, and it’s pretty messy and they laugh into each other’s mouths a couple of times and it’s the best fucking kiss Bucky’s ever had.

Steve pulls away first, lips red and raw and hair completely disheveled.

Bucky thinks he looks gorgeous like this.

“So, um, just to be clear, you like me too right?” Steve asks, clearing his throat and looking at Bucky hesitantly.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I’ve been in love with your dumb ass since 4th year. Now get back over here and kiss me.”

Steve’s eyes widen before Bucky pulls him in by the collar of his shirt, and when they pull apart minutes later—or was it hours—Steve laughs into his neck before pressing a sweet, tender kiss on the inside of his jaw.

Bucky shivers.

“Just so you know, I’ve been in love with your dumb ass since 4th year too. Or maybe third year. Or second, or—“

Bucky pulls him in again to shut him up.

Suffice to say, they don’t venture back down for the rest of the night.

(When Bucky heads back to the Slytherin Dorms to next day, he finds Natasha in the Common Room, legs crossed and lips pulled up into a smirk. She eyes the string of marks on his neck while he mentally prepares himself for the weeks’ worth of ribbing he’s going to have to endure.)

+

Things are different now, but only slightly so.

Bucky still squeezes in next to Steve in the Gryffindor table every morning, except he’s greeted with a morning peck and the resounding expressions of faux disgust from the other members of the table, led by Sam who only manages a disgusted face for all of 2 seconds before his face melts out into a warm, I’m Really Happy You Got Your Shit Together Smile.

Natasha barely manages to shoot him “I told you so” looks every day, but only because Bucky gives a pointed look at Clint’s arm draped around her every morning.

Tony claims to be mortally offended at the sight of them so disgustingly in love, as he put it, but tags along with them and Bruce to the library anyway.

They’re still Bucky and Steve, except now Bucky can reach over and kiss him whenever he wants to and doesn’t have to pretend he’s not ogling the ever living fuck out of Steve when he’s out on the Quidditch pitch.

Bucky still marvels at the fact that he can do that now, can appreciate his _boyfriend_ whenever he wants and do something about it.

The word still makes him giddy.

But he still can’t let go of the fear keeping his stomach in knots when he thinks about the future and life after Hogwarts. Steve was no doubt going to be accepted into a professional Quidditch team, and he’d be busy with training and travelling the world and just how much could he handle? Bucky didn’t know if he’d be able to balance a boyfriend with all that, and was too much of a damn coward to ask.

And there was Bucky’s life, training to be a Healer in St. Mungo’s and working odd shifts and being too busy to probably squeeze in some sleep.

It probably wasn’t the best time to be thinking about all that while making out in Steve’s dormitory, and Steve eventually notices and pulls away with a frown.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, fingers trailing over Bucky’s face.

Bucky huffs and decides that Steve’s lap probably isn’t the best place for this conversation, so he (regretfully) climbs off and settles down next to him.

“Graduation’s coming up in a few weeks,” he starts out, “and things are probably going to be real busy for us. I’ll be training in St. Mungo’s, and you’ll be training and travelling the world and playing professional Quidditch and--. Can we handle that?” Bucky asks, a desperate plea to his voice.

Steve’s brows are furrowed when he cups Bucky’s jaw in his hand. “If you know me, and I know you know me really well, then you know that I’m not a quitter, Buck,” he says, and he’s got his Determined Captain Face on now. “I’m in if you’re in.”

“Of course I am,” Bucky says softly, gently. His heart squirms in his chest.

“I feel like now would be a really great time to tell you that I’ve been looking at apartments near St. Mungo’s and the Quidditch Training Center, but I don’t know if that would be ruining the moment or not,” Steve says sheepishly.

“Then I feel like now would be a really great time to tell you that I’ve kind of been doing the same thing,” Bucky laughs, chest incredibly light with relief, before he pulls his boy in and kisses him.

They had a long way to go, but Bucky was willing to bet they had pretty good chances.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
